


The "Prophet" and the Righteous Man

by showmethebeefy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Chuck Lives, Chuck is God, Don't Judge Me, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I love this ship, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, i'm not even sorry, it's super dumb but i love it, unpopular ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2207970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showmethebeefy/pseuds/showmethebeefy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck Shurley found out some shocking things about himself after he poofed away from his desk. Two years later, he is shocked when someone he knows better than he should shows up on his doorstep, claiming some very interesting things. Naturally, he lets him in, and sees where it goes from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first fic on here and I'm hoping it goes well. This is just the prologue, of course, but I'm hoping it will go further than that.

Chuck had only truly begun to understand himself after the end. When he’d sat there, so pleased with himself. Pleased as punch, he’d lounged in his chair, hoping his ending did the Winchesters justice. He had smiled, happy with his work, and everything flashed white. Quite surprisingly, he was somewhere completely different. He’d nearly shat himself, being in a blank space, promptly falling on his ass because his whole room had disappeared out from under him.

“Fuck,” he had mumbled under his breath, unsteadily getting back to his feet. He had straightened the white button down he’d only put on to celebrate the end of a long and difficult experience, and looked around. 

“Where the hell am I?” he had wondered, a bit louder. And suddenly, the full knowledge of his existence had hit him like a freight train, and things had gotten a little jumbled for what had turned out to be the better part of two years. Two years filled with thoughts and prayers, not his own. Two years of not seeing, not knowing. Being forcibly re-initiated into the position he had abandoned once for reasons that were no longer clear to him. Chuck had come to a not so sudden realization. He was, and always had been, God.

Upon this realization, and the return to human functionality, and by extension, Earth, Chuck proceeded to move to a secluded place where no one would possibly find him. He didn’t know where the Winchesters were, or what had happened the past two years. All he knew was, he wanted no part of whatever was coming next for the world. All he wanted was a little privacy.  
 

* * *

  
Benny was gone, and Dean needed to find his way home. So, naturally, he started walking. Covered in sweat and dust, mourning the loss of the angel he’d come to hold in such high regard, and couldn’t seem to stop losing, Dean trudged onward. The day grew long, however, and finding he needed a place to rest, he stopped at a little house, rundown and tired, sagging on the porch. It was grayish brown, but looked like it had once been white, and there was a garden in the front of the porch. In back of the house Dean could see what looked like an apple orchard back there. His mouth watered, and for the first time in a while, apple pie filled his mind.

He ascended the porch steps, hearing them creak beneath his boots. He noticed there was a couch on the porch. Classy. Last time he’d seen something like that was probably when he had taken Sam from Stanford. That was a more frat house move than anything, but this place was out in the middle of nowhere. Dean raised his hand to knock on the door.

Two resounding knocks later, he stepped back from the door and waited. There was a sound from inside, like someone scrambling over mess to get to the door. The sound grew nearer, until it stopped. Dean smirked, assuming the resident of the house was making himself more presentable. Finally, the door unlocked and swung open slowly.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but realized suddenly he knew the person standing in front of him. The watery eyes, scruffy beard, pale skin, these were all familiar to him. Hell, he appeared to be wearing the same damn bathrobe, wife beater, and boxers from the first time they had met. The two men made eye contact, one looking down, the other looking up. Both felt an inexplicable feeling of foreboding.

“Shit,” said Chuck Shurley, slamming the door in Dean’s face.


	2. A Good Second First Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to find the truth and Chuck dodges a bullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here's the long-awaited second chapter of my very unpopular pairing fic. Let's hope it's better than the last. Let me know what you think?

After getting over the initial shock of _Dean Winchester_ , at _his doorstep_ , Chuck reopened his door.

“Dean,” he said, smiling awkwardly. “Fancy seeing you here.” He shoved his hands into his bathrobe pockets and fidgeted. “Would you like to come in?” Dean took this as an invitation and brusquely crossed the threshold, not sparing a word for Chuck.

Chuck couldn’t say he was surprised Dean had arrived at his house. It existed outside of space and time, and while he preferred it to be in Kansas, where it all began and ended, it must have unconsciously gone to where Dean needed it most.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Chuck said, following Dean into his house. The door closed after him, though he hadn’t touched it. “Sure, the story kept unfolding, but I never saw myself in it, especially not after the Tran boy took up the reins.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, not turning around. “About that. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Chuck froze. He thought for a moment, and mumbled something under his breath about it being a useful way to clear up a plothole.

“Let’s just say that’s up for debate,” he said, finally, a cheery smile on his face. Dean turned and glared at him. Chuck gulped. “ _So_ ,” he continued, “are you here for any particular reason, or…?”

“You should know, shouldn’t you?” Dean said, rifling through Chuck’s fridge. “Or were we mistaken in your prophet-tude?” Chuck gulped again, searching his brain for thoughts as Dean cracked open a beer and took a drink.

“Uh, well, you’ve got Kevin for that, don’t you, mind getting me one of those?” His words almost blurred together, as he edged toward the fridge. Dean got up close in his personal space. Chuck trembled and leaned back against the counter.

“Alright, look,” Dean said. “What do I hafta do to get you to tell me the truth?” He loomed over him, body barely brushing Chuck’s. Dean’s hand tightened around the beer bottle almost instinctively. Chuck scrabbled for something, anything, to get Dean to stop being so angry and personal space-invading.

“Look, Dean,” Chuck said, scooting out from Dean’s shadow to the open space next to the fridge. “You’re tired. Maybe a little hungry. You also smell like you’ve been rolling around in horse manure.” He chuckled, a little ‘ _he he_ ,’ nervously. “Why don’t you go take a shower, get some sleep in the spare bedroom of your choice.” He wiggled his fingers behind his back. The cracking scent of ozone filled his nostrils and invaded his hair. Ensured now was that the shower was prepared for Dean and that there was a bedroom that suited Dean’s needs.

“Alright,” Dean said warily. He exited the main kitchen/living room area that Chuck had lifted directly from his old home into the hallway. Chuck heaved a sigh of relief. There was that out of the way, for now.

* * *

Dean made his way down the surprisingly neat hallway. The first door was marked “Chuck” across it. Dean supposed Chuck had a lot of visitors. Well, that was a bit of a change. He opened the next door. Bathroom. It was done in pastels, and a big, fluffy olive green bathrobe was hanging from a hook. Nothing like the ratty old thing Chuck had been wearing. He felt it experimentally as he looked around the room. There was a blue towel hanging from the opposite wall, and a gray one. The gray one looked recently used.

“Why does the little bastard keep his bathroom stocked for two?” Dean wondered aloud. He pursed his lips in thought, and then decided, eeh, it doesn’t matter all that much. What mattered was the claw-footed tub with the puppy curtains and the removable showerhead that looked like it had a bunch of settings. Dean eagerly set the bath to fill up and busied himself with removing his clothing.

He stripped down his layers until he was completely naked and in a corner lay a crumpled pile of stolen clothes, encrusted with dirt. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was so dirty, every inch of him covered in filth. He frowned disdainfully, scraping at his dust-blown face with one cracked fingernail. _Gross._

When he turned to the tub he was surprised to see it was already filled up a good amount. He turned the water off and hopped in, sighing involuntarily, and rather loudly, too. Dean hoped Chuck didn’t think he was jerking it in here.

As he sat in the tub and rubbed at the dirt on his skin, he saw on the sink what looked like stuff for bubble bath. Resolving to draw another bath once he was done with his initial cleansing one, he scrubbed harder at his skin until it was pink and clean.

It took him long enough, but soon enough, he was able to empty the tub and watch that grime and gross swish away down the drain. He hopped out and started the hot water again, picking up the bottle. Sure enough, it was bubble bath. He popped the lid. It smelled fantastic.

Again, like magic, the bathtub was full to a good point. _Chuck must have really good water pressure,_ Dean mused as he poured bubble bath into the water. He slid back into the water, this time relishing the feeling of it against his skin, cherishing every moment. Who knows when he would get to feel something like this again? He submerged himself in the water, letting a breath out as the water consumed him. He stayed down for a moment before rising up again, breaking the surface like a whale breaching in the ocean. He sucked in a breath and then sighed, relishing in the feeling of being clean. Nothing like it. He sank again into the quickly forming bubbles, feeling all the muscles that had knotted up inside him relaxing completely.

Chuck came into the bathroom about an hour later to find Dean snoozing in the bath, bubbles mostly popped, skin like a prune. He lifted the man out of the tub, making sure he was dry, and wrapped him in the robe. He wrapped the towel around Dean’s head like a turban. Slowly, gently, he carried the man down to the next door, and into the room, light blue, with a neatly made bed. There he left Dean Winchester sleeping like a babe.


End file.
